


An Empty Canvas

by scandalsavage



Series: Earth 3 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Beating, Earth-3, Ice Play, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Resurrected Jason Todd, Talon!Dick, Vibrators, amnesiac!jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 23:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19037362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/pseuds/scandalsavage
Summary: After everything that's happened, Dick honestly never thought he'd see another Jason ever again, let alone his own.So the fact that his little wing is pointing a gun at him and doesn't seem to remember him doesn't worry him at all. It's just an incredible opportunity. A second chance. A blank slate.(You don't have to have read any of the Earth-3 series to get this. But, in the same vain as those, this isn't very nice).





	An Empty Canvas

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still not really taking prompts/requests on [my Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/) but I've been in a really bad slump this month so when I had an idea for this ask I went for it: 
> 
>  
> 
> _"...maybe if you have the time, would you mind doing a jaydick au where Jason kinda loses his memory and evil!Dick takes advantage of it?"_
> 
>  
> 
> May or may not be a canon ending for my Earth-3 series.

He can’t believe his eyes. It’s impossible. It does’t make any sense.

 

So Dick checks the HUD on his lenses just to make sure. He doesn’t usually bother with them but… this is wild, insane, totally unprecedented.

 

The tech in the lenses confirm.

 

The man standing across from him is Jason Todd.

 

Years. It’s been… three years since he has seen the baby owl.

 

Well, _his_ baby owl, _this_ world’s baby owl, anyway.  

 

Dick doesn’t bother to hide the way he drags his eyes over Jason’s new body. He hit a growth spurt at some point. Not such a baby bird anymore, it would seem.

 

“Raptor? That’s you isn’t it, little brother?”

 

“Lemme just stop you right there,” the man rumbles, voice deep and resonate in a way that makes Dick lick his lips and barely refrain from adjusting himself, “They already told me you’d try to trick me.”

 

Dick cocks his head, looking every inch the bird of prey his Talon suit suggest. “Trick you?”

 

“They said you’d try to convince me we were family. But I know what you did to me, they showed me. So it’s not going to work.”

 

Dick gapes at him, wicked smile tugging the corners of his lips up. “Jay… do you not remember me?”

 

The lenses of Jason’s domino narrow and his posture stiffens as he goes even more tense. “I know what I need to know,” he growls.

 

Under his own lenses, Dick’s eyes are wide. His mind is racing, one amazing idea fighting a hundred other amazing ideas for prominence. This is better than his first kill, better than that time he assassinated the President, better than when he finally seduced the replacement, President Wilson, getting the whole thing on camera for the Syndicate to use as blackmail. Even better than the first time Thomas bent him over the computers in the Roost, better than the night Thomas brought Jason home and they shared him for the first time.

 

This is his little wing back, with no memory of him. A blank slate. He recalls their first mission together. Jason is a pure, empty canvas waiting for someone to paint on him.

 

Dick is eager to create a new masterpiece.

 

“They showed you what Ultraman did to you?” He asks, mostly to distract Jason from how he’s inching closer, but also because if the League has access to that video, Thomas and the Syndicate have a major problem.

 

The way Jason’s brows come together, eyes squeeze shut, teeth grinding as he jerks his head to one side tells Dick that, yeah, he’s seen it.

 

“If you’ve seen it, you know I didn’t hurt you. I would never hurt you. It was Ultraman.”

 

“You knew,” he growls, but it’s shaky and one of the guns he had trained on Dick rises to press against his temple, like his head is hurting him. Like he’s confused.

 

Dick shakes his own head. Whoever sent Jason after them, whoever was responsible for his brainwashing, was either inept or an idiot. Or both. Jason’s obviously not ready.

 

This will be easy.

 

Now only an arms length away, Dick can get a better sense of how Jason has changed. He’s taller, several inches taller than Dick but obviously lighter. He’s lean. No, he’s… skinny. His body armor hides the worst of it but Dick’s been doing this a long time. He can see the truth. He’ll need to find out who has been starving and generally mistreating his baby.

 

All he has to do is get his little wing home and remind him how much they care.

 

Frowning, Dick pauses for a brief moment, considering taking Jason to one of his own safe houses in Bludhaven and _not_ telling Thomas. Keeping Jay to himself, locked up away from Owlman and his schemes.

 

Jason takes a deep, shaky breath, clearly in some kind of pain, and finally opens his eyes again to find Talon in his space.

 

The younger man tries to jerk away in surprise. But Dick moves too fast to see. He doubts Jason even felt a pinch of the needle going into his skin.

 

His little wing slumps in his arms, sagging into a gangly heap of limbs and skin and bones.

 

Sighing, Dick resigns to taking him to the manor. Alfred will be happy to see him. And Thomas didn’t keep Jason to himself when he could have so Dick supposes he can return the favor.

 

Besides, after their doppelgängers from the other Earth escaped, taking yet another Jason away from them, Thomas has needed… an outlet.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jason wakes, lying face down and bent over what seems to be a weird, padded table, legs spread to either side, his feet flat on the floor but no weight resting on them.

 

He’s pulled harshly back to consciousness by a burning need for oxygen. He tries to gasp but there is something in his mouth, poking the back of his throat, blocking that passage. So he tries to breath through his nose and gets only the tiniest stream of air into his lungs. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

 

The tight, painful pinch of something around his neck must be further crushing his windpipe. But when he tries to reach up and claw whatever it off he finds his forearms restrained behind his back and apparently connected to whatever is belted around his throat because the attempt to raises his hands just pulls it harshly against his Adam’s apple.

 

He struggles until he almost passes out again from too little air. His ankles, knees, and thighs seem to be strapped to the legs of the table, and the thing around his neck is attached to the edge his chin is hanging over because he can’t move his head up more than a couple inches. He’s stuck staring at the floor.

 

The quick, shallow breaths he’s forced to take are just enough to keep the darkness on the edges of his vision but not even close to enough to get rid of it.

 

Cold fingers touch lightly to the small of his back before slowly creeping lower. That’s when Jason notices he’s completely naked. The realization makes him jump and try to squirm away.

 

“Oh, little wing, I’ve missed you so much,” Talon hums behind him, “When you’re feeling a little more cooperative, you’ll have to tell me what happened, how you’re here when I saw your corpse,  buried your coffin.”

 

All Jason can do is make a muffled, confused sound in the back of his throat. He doesn’t remember a coffin. Or being dead. Ra’s and Jokester said he’d been badly injured. Not that he had _died_.

 

When thumbs pull at his ass, spreading him open for the cool air of the room to reach places it shouldn’t, and a chilly finger presses teasingly against his entrance without breaching, Jason can’t help the choked sob that escapes.

 

He thrashes weakly, too lightheaded and desperate to take a real breath to do much more than wriggle from side to side a couple times, to Talon’s amusement.

 

“You don’t remember this, little wing?” Talon asks, the laughter as clear in his voice as the lust, “This was one of your favorite games. I need to jog your memory. Your friends in the League have brainwashed you. You love us, and we love you.”

 

Jason doesn’t know much. He doesn’t have a lot of experience with the world, or life in general. That’s just how it is when your memory only goes back a couple years. He came to terms with that a long time ago. But this doesn’t match up with what he knows of love.

 

Admittedly most of what he knows of love comes from old books. The League has helped him but, Ra’s, Jokester, Luthor, no one is particularly… affectionate. However, he feels his instincts are justified when one of Talon’s hands disappears only start pushing a freezing, wet, cube, approximately two inches wide, insistently against his hole until it pops in.

 

Trying to escape the burning cold, he jerks his hips forward and cries out, muffled by his gag. And it definitely doesn’t feel like love when Talon chuckles at his distress and pushes the ice deeper into him, first with his fingers, then with something narrow and metal and cold, an ice pick or some weirdly specific toy…?

 

“You don’t remember being a hungry, homeless, prostitute on the streets of Gotham?” His tormentor continues. Jason whimpers when another cube is pushed into him. It’s so cold it burns and he can feel them melting inside him, making him uncomfortably wet. His breathing has quickened even more and now he’s getting even less air. “Until Owlman brought you home to be our personal whore? Brought you into our family and made you more than the street rat you were born? Made you lethal and powerful? Made you Raptor?”

 

He grunts and sobs when Talon, huffing in exertion, wedges something wide and long and vibrating viciously past the clenched, reluctant rim of his passage.

 

“I’d say it’d be easier for you if you relaxed but we’re past the hard part,” Talon says, patting his ass affectionately and shuffling around behind him for a moment. “It’s crazy how tight you are, little wing…”

 

Jason screams, or tries to, when a long, leather length snaps across his backside. Again, he instinctively tries to scramble away from the pain, into the table, straining the collar around his throat even more, jostling the mess inside him painfully. There’s something about not being able to make noise that mak es it all even worse. If he could hear himself scream and cry and verbalize his reluctance… he thinks he’d feel at least a little better if he could vent his pain and frustration.

 

“I mean, you never really got loose, not matter how much we used you. We used to joke it was your superpower. But I don’t remember you ever being quite this unyielding before.”

 

The need for Talon to just, _shut up_ , is driven from his mind as quickly as it comes when the belt lands lower, on the sensitive skin just below the swell of his ass and above his thighs. But that’s nothing to the agony a moment later when Talon lands a purposeful blow to his balls.

 

Another hit to his ass. One solidly on his thighs, then the backs of his knees, then several more to the angry, stinging flesh of his buttocks.

 

Each strike makes Jason gasp and cry and scream until he’s so hoarse and lightheaded that he’s on the edge of passing out. Each strike makes him reflexively clench, the friction melting the ice so that he feels the cool water sloshing around the vibrating monster that occasionally nicks his prostrate just enough to be painful and frustrating.

 

Talon seems to notice Jason’s consciousness is slipping because he stops beating him.

 

The tears are cooling on his burning cheeks, humiliation and anguish overwhelming him as Talon’s feet come into his line of sight. He’s so confused. Why is this happening? Why wouldn’t Talon just kill him? Why make up this elaborate story?

 

Suddenly, the gag is being gently pulled from his mouth, saliva and tears dripping onto Talon’s boots.

 

Those cold fingers card through his hair as he tries to take big gulps up air, choking because the collar is still constricting his breathing. But the darkness on the edges recede a little more.

 

The grip in his hair tightens and tugs his face up as high as it will go, bringing Jason face to face with Talon’s cock. He tries, again, to scurry back and away, again to no avail. The only thing it does is shift the toy deeper into him so that it now firmly buzzes against his prostate making him whine pathetically.

 

“Owlman will be home soon,” Talon coos softly, even as a knife flashes at Jason’s throat. “Then we can both help you remember.”

 

Cold metal presses against his overheated skin. The tears are freely flowing now, dripping off his chin to the plink on the floor.

 

“You were always so clever, little wing. So, even though you don’t know me yet, I think you know what happens if you decide to use those teeth in a mean way.”

 

Jason refuses to believe, for even a moment, that he _ever_ liked this game.

 

 


End file.
